


Zella

by Somnifery (somnifery)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnifery/pseuds/Somnifery
Summary: Salem remembers the exact moment he discovered his Guardian was different.





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the Warbeasts dragged in!”

The familiar voice rises above the chatter of the cantina, theatrical, making people stop and stare. The Awoken woman stops, cringes, but she doesn’t turn, hoping she’s not been spotted.

“Zella, baby, when did you get back?”

Ah.So much for her plan to grab food and go. The Hunter sighs, trying not to think of the hot bath and bed she’s been longing for since she left Io, turning to face the Exo coming toward her with outstretched arms and a green-light grin.

“Tariq!” She huffs as the Titan envelopes her in a hug, squeezing tightly enough to leave her breathless. “I didn’t think I’d see you this early. Shaxx not keeping you busy?”

“As if.” Tariq chuckles, pulling away but keeping his hands on her shoulders. “You certainly _look_ like you’ve been crawling around the system for a year. What brings you back?”

“Work, of course.” Zella gives him a tired smile, spreading her palms out in a gesture of helplessness. “That, and I really need a shower.”

“Yes, you do. Is your hair still purple under all that dirt?” The Exo lifts his hands to pat her shoulders, looking around before bellowing once more. “Raf! Get the lady some food, would you? She’s about to faint on me.”

Zella shakes her head, but she lets Tariq guide her back to his table, resisting the temptation to just slouch down and sleep once she’s seated.

Tariq-3 has the frame to match his large, dramatic personality. He seems a giant to Zella, the combination of his height and presence always filling any room he’s in, if his voice hasn’t filled it already. He wears civilian clothes when he’s not on duty, the brushed blue metal of his plating reflecting the light beneath the folds of his cowl as he sets a drink in front of her.

“That’ll take the edge off,” he assures her, watching intently until she picks it up to take a sip.

Zella pulls a face as the alcohol burns her throat, unable to suppress a small burp as her empty gut rebels.

“Maybe with some food.” She glances toward the kitchen, though she has no expectation anything will arrive this quickly. “Really, though. I’m fuckin’ ragged, I’m heading out as soon as I finish eating.”

“Fair enough.” The Exo shrugs, patting her affectionately on the leg. “I can walk you back to the Tower, if you’d like.”

Zella considers telling him no, that she’ll walk alone, because they’ve played out variations of this script at least a half dozen times before.

 _Sleeping alone wouldn’t kill you_  Salem has told her at least a dozen times.

She doesn’t care to heed him today, she decides.

“Sure.” Zella shrugs in return, taking another sip of her acidic cocktail. “Might need some help washing my hair, while you’re at it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What went wrong?”

“What?” Salem bristles. Despite her sweet, female voice, he knows the other Ghost’s intentions.

“With your Guardian. When you brought her back.” The other Ghost doesn’t seem bothered by his tone, doesn’t seem to notice it at all. “Did you mess something up? Did something get scrambled, when, y’know…”

“No.” Finality, severe. “She is perfectly fine.”

“Fine?” She sounds as if she’s truly concerned. Good acting, for such a malicious busybody. “She can’t _read_.”

“What my Guardian can and can’t do isn’t your business.”

Salem wants to tell her exactly why she’s wrong, but then he remembers the hurt in his Guardian’s eyes the last time he spoke about these things. He restrains himself.

“She does her job, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Sheesh,” the Ghost backs away, affronted. “No need to be so touchy.”

“Go scan a black hole,” he snaps. “I’ve got work to do.”

He waits until she’s gone, drifting up, across the shelves, finding a book that looks interesting and scanning the spine with a studious whir.

Somewhere in the Tower, his Guardian is probably seducing someone, as she always does when they’re back in port. He finds these encounters boring, no matter how much he loves her, and thus he spends his time here, among the archives.

He gave up on trying to find some magical cure for Zella’s trouble years ago. Perhaps it’s for the best, in the end. Now he can seek out the stories and information he knows she’ll like. He commits these words to memory for her, if he can, or makes a note of books he thinks she can manage-- If the words aren’t too small. If the letters aren’t crowded on the page.  

“Need anything pulled tonight?” The Warlock is at the end of the aisle, peeking around the shelves with a warm smile. “I’m about to go on my break.”

Salem turns, faltering as his train of thought is interrupted. He doesn’t know what he wants tonight. He isn’t even sure what he’s looking for.  

“Not yet, Kava.” He admits, drifting down to her level. She tilts her head, smile fading at his dejected tone. “I want a new story. Something special.”

The Warlock hums, thoughtful. She holds out her cupped hands, letting Salem rest on them as she looks down the aisle.

“Come to the stacks with me,” she says, kind as ever. “You can look in the back while I eat my dinner, and we can talk about it.”

Salem hesitates, but only for a moment. Zella won’t need him tonight. Not with Tariq on hand to coddle her.

“Alright,” he agrees. “If it won’t be too much trouble.”


	3. Chapter 3

Something is touching her. Shaking her, gently.

Zella grumbles, swatting irritably at the hand resting on her arm. It goes away, and she rolls over, but it returns, this time on her back.

“Come on, baby girl. Time to wake up.”

“Nnnnno.” She doesn’t bat him away this time, but she does turn her face into the pillow, blocking out the light.

Tariq sighs, rubbing her back gently.  

“It’s been eighteen hours, babe. You gotta eat something. Come on.”

Zella groans dramatically. Still, she lets him drag her upright, drape her across his lap before setting out tea and pastries on the comforter, breaking off a piece of bread and feeding it to her.

“There you go.” Tariq’s pleasure is apparent in his voice, watching her chew slowly, head still tilted back against his leg. “Salem said you’re underweight. Gotta fatten you up before you go back out there.”

“Salem’s a snitch,” Zella replies. She drapes an arm across her eyes, taking a moment to breathe, take stock of her body. It feels good to be clean, at least. Clean clothes, clean hair, and a night on some clean sheets can work wonders.

She didn’t come to Tariq’s place to be clean, though. She tries to scrape her memory for how yesterday ended.

“We didn’t…?” The Hunter peeks out from beneath her arm, looking up at the Exo. “Did we?”

“No, we didn’t.” He laughs, resting a hand on her stomach. “You were out as soon as we hit the bed. Bit anticlimactic, but it was nice anyways.”

“Sorry,” she cringes, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t’ve led you on.”

“I don’t mind.” Tariq strokes her cheek, affectionately. “I’d like to fall asleep next to you more often, really.”

Zella laughs, a nervous sound. Catching his hand in her own, she plays with his fingers, kissing each in turn before gently nipping one.

“I can make it up to you.” She bites her lip, releasing it to slip his finger into her mouth, using her tongue to change the subject.

“Zella…” The Exo hesitates, trying to decide if he’ll let her get away with this. “You’re never gonna settle down, are you?”

“Why would I?” She lets him draw his hand back, grinning as he traces the line of her jaw, her throat, fingers still damp. “The sex is so much better when you’re trying to convince me to commit.”

“Temptress. Here. Eat first,” Tariq stipulates, placing the entire pastry between her teeth, taking a sip of his tea. “Then we can have some fun.”

Zella grins, taking a large bite out of her treat.

“Too bad you don’t have teeth,” she teases, mouth still full. “I’d let you eat it off of me.”

Tariq chuckles, but he’s putting his tea down, a slightly wicked effect in the narrowing of his eyes.

“Sit up,” he orders, supporting her with a hand between the shoulders as he slips off the bed. “I have a better idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

Salem remembers the exact moment he discovered his Guardian was different.

 _Different_ is the way he frames it now. Back then, he had harsher words, like _broken_.

They were on the Reef, washed up like so much driftwood, a distress call answered by Corsairs with faces that showed flashes of shocked recognition when the Guardian removed her helmet. They were gracious enough not to say anything, at least.

At first.

She was like a child in a candy store, attention caught by every imaginable sight the outpost had to offer, asking the poor Corsairs about their uniforms, their weapons, the stone walls, the docked ships.

“Zella,” one called her, a moment of exasperation as she pulled the girl back from the edge of the void. “Be careful.”

“Zella?” His Guardian had asked, confused. The color drained from the poor Corsair’s cheeks as she realized what she’d said, but the Guardian was already moving on, attention caught by something else. “Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful! I’ll go now.”

Salem was grateful she was too simple to understand why the Awoken soldier looked sick, felt relief flood his systems as his Guardian moved away to her new distraction.

That distraction was some women, a monitor they were standing in front of, and she went to it, curious, reaching out to touch the screen as if she were the only person there.

“What language is this?”

She asked in earnest, staring at the display. For a moment, he thought she must be joking, but she turned to look at him, look at the Corsairs, when they didn’t give her a response.

“What? Don’t you know?”

Salem was mute with despair. He’d done something wrong. He’d ruined his Guardian somehow.

One of the Corsairs took off her helmet, then. She smiled at the girl, a kind expression, and later Salem would realize that she knew his Guardian-- That she _had_ known her.

“Are the letters all jumbled up?” The Corsair asked, glancing at the screen. “Missing pieces?”

His Guardian blinked, then looked back at the display, shaking her head after a few moments as though it might clear her vision.

“... Yeah. I guess that’s it.” She sounds puzzled. “Isn’t that what you see?”

The Corsair hesitated, looking to her companions, seeming to make a decision when she saw Salem still paralyzed behind them. She placed a hand on his Guardian’s arm, stepping closer, pointing to the screen, following the words with her finger.

“ _Report_ ,” the girl read the first line slowly, carefully. “ _Vestian Outpost Status._ See?”

“Oh.” The Guardian doesn’t sound less confused. “How can you read it?”

“You’ve got dyslexia,” the Corsair said, as if it were as simple as saying the sky was blue. “It makes you see normal words and letters like that.”

“What?” Salem didn’t mean to butt in, but he couldn’t help it. The moment of kindness, of a quiet, sad friendship was gone, and they were all turning to look at him, some with looks dirtier than others. “What do you mean, dyslexia? That should’ve been fixed.”

“Fixed?” His Guardian repeated, frowning. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No.” The Corsair said it before he could reply, giving him a glare that promised violence. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just the way some people are.”

Salem wanted to argue with her, wanted to press her, but--

His Guardian was looking at him, expression like that of a kicked puppy. She’d heard his tone. She understood what he meant. She wasn’t perfect, and he was upset about it.

“Hey,” one of the other Corsairs said, breaking into the painful silence. “You wanna meet a real Fallen Vandal? We have one on our side that hangs out around here.”

“A what?” His Guardian turned, looking around as if the Vandal might pop out of a crate for her pleasure. “Where?”

Then his Guardian was trotting off behind the soldiers, leaving Salem alone with the kind Corsair.

She stared at him, her helmet propped under her arm, deep blue hair braided like a crown on her head.

Salem stared back.

“Your ship will be ready soon,” she said, tone cool. “You two can go as soon as it’s fixed.”

“That’s it?” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice. “What about her?”

The Corsair tilted her head slightly, as if he were a puzzle she had to figure out.

“My friend is dead,” she informed him. Her voice was flat, detached, as if she were reading off a script. “And your Guardian is your responsibility now.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Guess who!”

A pair of hands covers her eyes, a warm body pressed against her back, shaking slightly with suppressed giggles. Zella brings her hands to these wrists, feeling the bracelets, the soft hem of her sleeves.

“Hmm. It smells like Yared, but he’s _much_ taller…” She pretends to consider the problem, though she can’t help but grin. “Could it be Faiza?”

“It might be.” Her friend releases her, slapping her on the arm as she slides onto the bench next to her. “I smell much better than Yared.”

“But you admit you’re short,” Zella retorts, yelping as she gets another slap on the arm, laughing as she rubs the sore spot.

“Shouldn’t you be studying? Locked up at home?” Faiza leans against Zella, perching her chin on her shoulder, looking at the books and pages spread out before her. “Awful lot of pictures for these to be scribe work.”

“I’m studying. Just not scribe stuff.” Zella wrinkles her nose. “I’m going to be a Corsair.”

“What, you told your parents?” Faiza sounds incredulous. “How’d that go?”

“No, not yet. I’m going to, though. Soon.” She isn’t looking forward to it. “I don’t think it’ll be a surprise. A stupid Corsair can get by, a stupid Scribe can’t.”

“You’re not stupid,” Faiza pinches her lightly on the arm, frowning. “You know better than that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zella sighs. “I’m very smart, it just takes me half a year to read anything.”

“Better.” Faiza sits up, propping her elbows up on the table. “We can start training together if you tell them soon.”

“You could tell them,” she suggests. “They like you. And they won’t yell at you.”

“Are you kidding? Your moms practically raised me, they love yelling at me.” Faiza snorts, picking up some papers, sorting them into a neat stack. “I’ll come to dinner for moral support, though, if you’d like.”

“Sure, whenever I decide to do it.” She shrugs. “Next week, maybe.”

“Tonight,” Faiza corrects her. “You’ll do it tonight.”

“Come on,” Zella grimaces. “Tonight is too soon.”

“If you don’t tell them,” Faiza pokes her in the chest, grinning mischievously. “I will. And _then_ you’ll be getting yelled at for keeping secrets.”

“At least _pretend_ you wouldn’t enjoy it,” Zella grumbles. Still, she’s tapping something out on her handheld, rolling her eyes dramatically as she hits send. “I told them you’re coming. Happy?”

“Very.” Faiza embraces her, laughing as Zella huffs in surprise. “As long as Karima isn’t cooking.”


	6. Chapter 6

Coming to her Den feels like coming home, Zella thinks, or the closest thing a Hunter can have to a home.

It’s dim, close, the smell of smoke and liquor permeating the lower levels at all hours, cloaks tossed over chairs and banisters, a small armory at the door to prevent stray grenades and drunken shootouts, well-paid civilians moving quietly through the rooms to keep the kitchen stocked and the bed linens clean.

“Zella,” the Hunters greet her, pat her on the shoulder, the arm, draw her in for an embrace or a clasp of hands. “Good hunting?”

“Always,” she replies, smiling.

She’s not interested in the gambling and grifting tonight. She wants a shower. She wants to relax.

“Hello, hello.” A familiar voice, a strong pair of arms around her waist. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d come back.”

“Otieno!” She turns, but then the man is lifting her up, making her squeal as he carries her a few feet to the bar. “I thought you’d be out of town.”

“Been helping cover some Tower duties,” he sighs dramatically. “Those Titans are just too slow to get _anything_ useful done.”

“Don’t be mean,” she chastises, hands on his shoulders as he sets her on the countertop. “You know I like Titans.”

“You like a lot of things,” he chuckles, patting her on the ass before reaching for a glass and bottle, pouring her a drink. “If you want to be subtle, though, Tariq’s got to cool it on the cologne.”

Zella has the grace to blush, at least, accepting the drink and waiting for him to pour his own.

“Cheers,” he says, and they tap glasses politely before tossing back the liquor.

Zella huffs at the burn, unaccustomed after her time away. Otieno grins, patting her mockingly on the back.

“How long are you in town?” He tops her drink off, glancing up as another Huntress approaches, sliding onto the stool on Zella’s other side. “Hello, Cua.”

The woman gives him a nod of acknowledgement, though she’s standing on the crossbar of her stool to give Zella a slightly more than friendly kiss.

“Welcome back,” she says, smiling at Zella’s apparent surprise. “How was Venus?”

“Never more beautiful than you,” Zella replies, making Cua laugh. “What have you been up? Stuck inside, helping those stuffy Warlocks with their Praxic busywork?”

“Not all the time,” Cua admits. She settles onto her seat, though she keeps a hand resting possessively on Zella’s thigh. “I do field work, too.”

“I’ll never understand how you do it.” Otieno shakes his head, pouring the newcomer her own drink. “I’d go stir crazy.”

“It’s just a different sort of hunt,” Cua shrugs, catching the glass as he slides it down the counter. “We can’t all be cowboys, you know.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Zella protests. “I’m much too cool to be a cowboy.”

“Hmm.” Cua tilts her head, looking up at her with an expression of feigned thoughtfulness. “You know, I think you’re right. You aren’t a cowboy.”

“That’s right.” Zella takes a sip of her drink, pleased to have won the debate.

“You’re a princess,” Cua continues, cool as can be. “A pillow princess.”

Zella chokes on her drink, nearly dropping the glass, and Otieno laughs so loudly that the gambling tables stop and stare.

"I am  _not_ ," Zella finally replies, once she's able to breath again. "This is slander." 

"If you say so, dear." Otieno is grinning, polishing a glass before sliding it back onto the shelf. "I'm sure you know best." 


	7. Chapter 7

“You can choose a new name,” the drone-- the  _ Ghost _ \-- says. “If you want to. Most of you do.”

“Like what?” She’s looking out at the violet sky. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know… anything.”

“Give it some time,” he says, patient. “You’ll know all you need to know. It just takes a while to process.”

“She called me Zella,” she says. “She knew me.”

The Ghost doesn’t answer, doesn’t speak. Lets her think.

“... Zella is good.” She exhales. “Simple. One thing.”

He doesn’t tell her it’s a mistake, that it’s a tie to something she doesn’t need anymore, a person she’ll never be again.

“Do you have a name?”

They’re in a place that once was a city, now decimated, overgrown, the bricks slowly returning to the earth they came from. Green leaves, green like her eyes, cling to every surface, vines and trees tearing what’s left of the past apart.

“Not really,” the Ghost says, drifting along, scanning the various piles of debris with a vague curiosity. “Sometimes they give us names while we search. I didn’t spend enough time with anyone to be named, though.”

Zella clambers atop a once-building, looking around, listening to the sound of birds and rustling undergrowth.

“Do you want a name?” She asks it as if she’s asking him the time, the weather, casual as can be.

The Ghost pauses, turns to look at her.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind having one.” It sounds as if he’d shrug, if he had shoulders. “Do you have one in mind?”

Zella tilts her head to one side, considering him.

“You should pick one for yourself,” she finally says. “Like you told me. You can choose who you want to be.”

He blinks. Turns away.

“A name?”

He drifts off again, silent. Zella follows, once she realize he’s not coming back, wondering if he’s ended their conversation, if she’s offended him. 

By the time he stops, they’ve reached a hill overlooking a body of water, a vast lake, the sea.

“Salem,” he says, as she hikes up the slope behind him, breathless.

“What?” She’s lost the train of thought, left the idea a quarter hour in the past.

“My name,” he says, not turning to look at her. “You can call me Salem.”

“Salem.” She repeats, trying it out. “What does it mean?”

“It was a city, once.” He sounds thoughtful, distant. “It was one of the first places I looked for you. It’s still peaceful, even now.”

She looks back, looks at the ruins they’ve just walked over.

“... I like it.”

Zella smiles at him, and he turns to look at her, enjoying her first happy moment.

“Ready to find shelter?” He asks, casting a glance at the setting sun. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Yeah.” Zella sighs, smile fading. “I can hear something out there.” 

Salem listens. They stand there, silent. 

From the depths of the forest, faint cries of Eliksni ring like bird cries off the ancient trees. 


End file.
